


A Bolder Journey

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Osgood catalogues and journeys through the Black Archive and finds welcome, serenity and friendship at the Undergallery. She is an explorer in her own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bolder Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the _Doctor Who_ 50th Anniversary Special 'The Day of the Doctor.'

 

 

 

Osgood settled down in front of the painting. It was striking, cubist and full of bright colours. The frame was dark-green and there was something about the corner angles that made her frown. They reminded of her of a UNIT case that she’d read about recently.

 

“You won’t like the splinters from that.”

 

The rich familiar voice didn’t make her jump this time. Instead she leaned a little closer to the painting and extracted tweezers and a specimen bubble from her bag. There was still so much to learn in the Undergallery, Osgood loved that.

 

She paused and turned her head towards the Curator, “Just a couple, from a corner?”

 

“I should think they’ll be in good hands, so long as you remember to wear gloves.”

 

Osgood hesitated but then determinedly tweezed a couple of loose frame splinters into the bubble before sealing it and safely hoarding it for further investigation. She made a quick note on her phone and reached for the more pertinent matter at hand, the reason she’d come to the Undergallery in the first place.

 

“Egg and cress?”

 

“Ah.”

 

The Curator sat down beside her. He was wearing a soft-brown suit and was carrying a small boxy case from which he produced a flask and a couple of rounds of sandwiches.

 

“Ham and piccalilli, and a little turkey and appropriate cranberry of course.”

 

“It’s not Christmas.”

 

“Oh, it is, somewhere.”

 

Osgood smiled and swapped one of her egg and cress sandwiches for a turkey and cranberry. He’d used whole-wheat bread today and had kept the crusts on. When he unscrewed the lid of his flask, Osgood could smell what she thought was soup only the Curator drank it straight from the flask like tea.

 

“Did that sculpture piece come in? The one with the compelling discus detail?”

 

“There’s been a delivery delay, between you and I there's signs of a most terrible conspiracy at work.”

 

“What kind of conspiracy?”

 

“Oh, the very darkest kind.” The Curator leaned close, his voice low and confidential. “The corporal in charge of the sculpture lost it and so he's now attempting to pretend, in the greatest of military traditions, that he didn’t. Ssh.”

 

*

 

The atmosphere in the Undergallery was so calm and welcoming. It was so quiet that every noise seemed louder by comparison. Osgood’s every footfall always sounded like hammer blows. Osgood was very familiar with that particular sound because she’d once spent a week working with similar tools thanks to an alien incursion in East Peckham. She was sure that knowledge she'd earned then would come in useful eventually.

 

She wasn’t wielding a hammer now though. Rather, there were several balls of wool piled on her lap and at her feet and she was focused on how loud the click-clack of her knitting needles was. They sounded like sword blows or soldiers marching. Osgood dropped a stitch and quickly went back to correct herself.

 

Knitting helped her think, keeping her hands busy always did. She counted her rows and nodded smilingly. Now onto another important matter. How was it that a man could be dead in a morgue one day and be walking around Preston the next? A few in UNIT’s science department had theories and Osgood was sure that none of them were right. So what had happened? The speed of her knitting increased and the Undergallery stayed silent and helpful.

 

*

 

Osgood spent a lot of time at the Black Archive as well. It had security of course; some of the highest, but it didn’t have a curator, like the Undergallery did. No one could be spared. So when Osgood wasn’t working on whatever her boss urgently needed, she worked on maintaining the Black Archive. It was a big responsibility, Osgood was thrilled to carry it.

 

She was currently working on a filing system, something that made sense but that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who somehow managed to break in. She didn’t share the system with the Archive’s security detail because she’d read a lot of case reports and really terrible things could happen and people could be made to say all kinds of things. Osgood forced herself to read those case files because such things frequently happened to UNIT personnel and she wanted to be aware and prepared, if the latter was possible. Osgood didn’t like reading about those incidents though or looking at the photographs.

 

Some archived items were powerful because of what they represented rather than because of what they could do – River Song’s stilettos for example, Professor River Song was a close ally of the Doctor when she wasn’t being one of his most dangerous enemies. She was part of his past, present and future. Osgood had read some of River Song’s academic papers, she’d become so absorbed in them that she hadn’t gotten any sleep that night.

 

She investigated what each item did, how it had been used and if it could be used again. The variety of items archived was amazing and exciting. Osgood loved the time that she spent in the Archive, she got to discover new worlds thanks to each object. It was one of many reasons why she loved her UNIT job. She had to pinch herself sometimes because she was writing reports about alien technology, about people who'd explored beyond the stars. It was almost everything she’d dreamed about for so many years.

 

She regularly organised the Archive’s photoboards, trying to create and refine a coherent timeline for the Doctor. It’d been her idea and her boss had approved. It was a pretty impossible task but it helped to have some idea of who he and his companions had interacted with, where they’d helped and where they'd caused problems. Osgood wasn’t blind, she was a big fan of the Doctor’s work, a huge fan, and tried really hard to emulate his brilliant thinking and practices but she’d read his files including all the redactions. It'd made her reach for her inhaler.

 

*

 

“Do you know I think that might be my favourite?”

 

The Curator was looking at what was apparently the Mona Lisa, according to Osgood’s notes it was a fake though. The Doctor had written that it was a fake on the back of the canvas. The painting did look just like the real thing. Osgood wondered if the Doctor had painted it himself.

 

Osgood tilted her head. “It came from Paris, not Italy.”

 

“Ah, well, Paris, it does have that bouquet. Are you sure that scarf’s long enough?”

 

Osgood fiddled with the tail of her finished scarf. She was pleased with how the stripes of colour had come out. It made her smile whenever she caught sight of her own reflection.

 

“Someone tripped over it at the bus stop yesterday.”

 

“And gained a soft landing no doubt.”

 

“It’s so practical during the winter.”

 

“And during English summers too, I should imagine.”

 

Osgood turned to a particular gallery wall where hexagonal roundels were neatly displayed. They often caught her eye. The Curator had never told her not to touch them; in fact he looked pleased whenever she did.

 

Her fingers grazed them now; the hexagons felt warm and welcoming.

 

Osgood opened her bag and produced a foil-wrapped package. “Chicken, bacon and barbecue sauce.”

 

The Curator looked delighted and extracted a flask from his case. “Such a philosophical decision, it’s the only way to go to lunch.”

 

Osgood quickly double-checked her electronic detectors, they were set up to record the atmospheric pressure drops that kept occurring in this particular Undergallery room, and settled down to hear another good story and see another new world, armed only with shared sandwiches and an inhaler.

 

She couldn't wait.

 

_-the end_


End file.
